6. Indie
Chapter 6
Indie
I ’m going to have to change my approach. The Crimson Three are vehemently against interviews, so I can’t just walk up to them and ask. That didn’t work last time. It’s time to figure out how I can get them to talk, how I can convince them that an interview won’t be so bad. But in the meantime, I’ll do what I do best and that’s to find the stories.
The Dixie National Rodeo in Jackson, Mississippi lasts about a week, so I’ll have time to really dig in deep and figure out what makes the men tick. I’m gonna need to see how I can exploit them, and I hate to say it, Beau Rogers seems like the weakest link. He was openly flirtatious and is clearly curious about me. Perhaps that can be my opportunity to get something from him. But the other two seem more ironclad than Beau. Ramiro seems like the second-best option, more levelheaded and put together in general. He seems like the older brother of the group, like he keeps them all in line, and he’s at least talked to press before. As for Tripp. . . I’m not sure that brick wall can be climbed.
Most legacies would be proud to talk about being a legacy. They always talk about what an honor it is to continue where their fathers left off before them, doing interviews constantly, making the name even more relevant. Tripp Savage is nothing like that. He doesn’t acknowledge his legacy in any way, leaving it to the announcer to do it and no one else. He doesn’t do interviews at all. While Ramiro talks to the journalists every now and then to discuss the show, Tripp never even spares a hello. He ignores all reporters. He shuns anyone who isn’t one of the Crimson Three. Hell, I don’t even think he partakes in the women who chase these kinds of events. Not like Beau Rogers. Beau Rogers leaves a line of broken hearts in every city he visits. That’s why there’s a large group of women at this event, all clustered together screaming his name. They have blue handprints across their faces. A few of them have the signature blue handprint on their chests even. Which is pretty fucking forward of them, but it still makes me laugh. There are plenty of people who shoot them judgmental looks for it. I think let them have their fun.
Day one doesn’t bring much exciting with it. Ramiro Mondragon enters the bareback bronc riding at this stop and qualifies for the next round pretty easily. Tripp Savage almost looks bored when he’s on his bull, and when he reaches the eight seconds, he springs off almost clumsily, falling to his knees briefly while Beau distracts the bull. I watch as Tripp stands up and picks up his hat from the dirt. There’s a slight wobble in the way he stands, not strong enough for most people to notice, but for someone like me, I recognize it anywhere.
I’d watched my father do the same wobble.
He’s fucking drunk. He has to be. I watch as he slowly walks toward the chutes, unconcerned with the bucking bull still rushing around behind him. Beau keeps the bull occupied, but if that thing were to focus on him, he’d be a goner. Tripp doesn’t even look back at his score. He just walks off as if he already knows he qualifies.
Well, I guess that would explain the less graceful dismount, but Christ, I’ve never known anyone capable of riding a bull while intoxicated. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that wobble was just exhaustion. They did drive all night after all.
Either way, I get nothing from the men for the evening, so I settle for interviewing a few members of the Beau Rogers Fan Club instead.
“Could you tell me your names?” I say after handing them a photo release form to sign. They’d all happily signed the paper and then posed for numerous photos showing off the blue handprints on their faces, their chests, and a few on their asses. It’s going to make for a great little part of the article, for sure.
“Patsy!”
“Ginny.”
“Paisley.”
I nod. “Okay, now tell me what brings you here.”
“Beau Rogers, of course,” Patsy says, and the way she says his name makes it sound like a deep sigh. “We came for him.”
“No one else?” I ask with raised brows.
“Well,” Ginny shrugs. “The other cowboys are cute, too. There’s something about a man in tight jeans that’s just hard to resist.”
Ginny has the strongest accent of the three, her southern Mississippi tone as thick as molasses. She flutters ridiculously long eyelashes at me as she talks, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s trying to look demure or because the false eyelashes are too heavy for her eyelids.
“Okay. Can you tell me what it is about Beau Rogers that brings you out here chasing him,” I add.
“What’s not to love?” Paisley asks. “He’s hot as fuck. Ever since we saw him online, we knew we had to catch a show with him.”
“And thank god we did!” Patsy adds. “The man is as hot as concrete in the middle of summer. He could ask me to do anything, and I’d do it.”
“Have the three of you had a relationship with Beau Rogers at all?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, no,” Ginny sighs. “We haven’t even gotten close. But I know someone who did. She’s a real buckle bunny, that one. But she landed Beau Rogers, so it paid off, I guess. Said it was the best she ever had.”
I furrow my brows. “Buckle bunny?”
“Yeah,” Paisley nods. “Women who chase the cowboys on a rodeo circuit. It used to be a negative thing, but I think everyone is trying to claim the power back over it.”
“That makes sense. Do The Crimson Three often sleep with their fans?”
Patsy snorts. “No. Only Beau. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone sleeping with the other two. As far as I know, Ramiro and Tripp keep things professional.”
“Thank you, ladies. I’ll send you an email once the article goes live if I use your photos,” I tell them with a smile.
Paisley beams. “Absolutely. Let us know if you need anything else.”
“If any of you manage to snag Beau Rogers, feel free to reach out to me,” I say with a grin. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”
They giggle and high five me before heading back to the stands. I’ve never been the type of girl to have other girlfriends. My childhood was spent keeping the family afloat after a while and friends don’t tend to stick around for that. I made some close friends while overseas, but many of those were guys. I often wonder how much I’m missing out on by not having any girlfriends I can call to vent to or ask for advice.
As Paisley, Patsy, and Ginny scream and cheer up in the stands, I wish I had that sort of companionship, but I don’t dwell on it for too long.
I’ve got a story to get.
When the event is done and the journalists all stand outside the chute, I don’t scream questions at them as they walk out like the rest of them. I just stand and watch as the Crimson Three leaves together, their eyes scanning the group. Ramiro meets my eyes curiously as I stand and watch them, clearly wondering why I’m not trying to ask questions, but I just dip my chin gently. He tips his cowboy hat to me in a way that makes my heart skip a beat and continues on.
Damn. I guess I can understand the buckle bunnies a little, after all.